I Am An I Trixie Insisted

My imagination was not amused by my muse Had I thought they were the same thing? If so I was sorely mistaken My imagination was tired of her taking all the credit For every line, every rhyme, every word that made sense That’s mine! Trixie would shout. Twirling her batons with the fire on the ends. Leaping into the air higher than a well-endowed stag. It was mine too! Imagination seethed. Irritated now. What difference? I asked them. Are we not a “we?” I never thought of myself as an I, did you? “I am an I!” Trixie insisted, sticking her tongue out at Imagination. I tried to apologize, but Imagination was all keyed up. You always give her the credit he said, sticking out his tongue at me. Good grief! I rolled my eyes, but silently, and in my mind, hoping Imagination would not catch me. Of course he did, and he got all huffy. Making Trixie laugh.